


lay us down, we're in love

by philindas



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ghost/Living Person AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 21:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7700587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philindas/pseuds/philindas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melinda is alive. Phil isn’t. That doesn’t stop her from falling in love with him while she struggles to help him move on from the trauma that had ended his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lay us down, we're in love

**Author's Note:**

> This started with an ask fic I wrote on tumblr and expanded into a verse that I had to write a full story for. The Melinda/Steve is really just a singular three sentence scene and background mentions- this story is heavily Philinda. Title From The End of All Things by Panic! at the Disco.

She’d known she was different since she was a child and the girl she’d thought was her best friend was someone no one else saw. As she’d grown older, she’d realized who the people only she could see were- people who had died with unfinished business, stuck in the place between life and death.

As a teenager, she’d learnt to keep this secret to herself; she had few friends and spent most of her time alone. She’d eventually learned how to help the ghosts she saw- help them resolve the business they’d left on earth and guide them towards the light at the end of the tunnel they were trapped in.

Time passed, and she resolved herself to a quiet life on her own; she’d gone to college and gotten a degree in social work, and settled in a nice apartment in Washington DC with a view of the Washington Monument. She set up a jogging route, crossing paths with a well-built blonde man who always smiled as he passed her every morning.

The morning of her thirtieth birthday, she comes back from her jog, the number of the blonde man ( _Steve_ , she mentally reminds herself) scribbled on a piece of paper stuffed in her left pocket. She’s unlocking her door when she hears the throat clear behind her, and she jumps slightly.

“Sorry,” a soft male voice says as she turns, swallowing against the rapid beating of her heart. Standing a few feet away from her is an attractive man in a suit; she knows he’s a ghost the moment she sees the splash of red across his chest. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m used to it,” she answers softly, turning the knob of her door and opening it, gesturing inside. “I’m Melinda. Would you like to come in?”

The man nods; he walks past her and she can see the tear in the back of his jacket. It makes her heart hurt at the thought of it, and she shuts the door quietly behind her as the man gazes around her apartment.

“How long ago did you die?” she asks, shrugging off the thin jacket she’d worn, tossing it into the basket by the door. She leaves Steve’s number next to the key dish where she deposits her keys and phone before settling down on the sofa, undoing the laces of her sneakers.

“A week ago,” the man answers after a hesitant pause, hands shoved in his pockets.

“And what’s your name?” Melinda prompts, keeping him talking as she settled on the floor, beginning her series of stretches. The man straightens slightly, turning to look at her.

“Phil,” he answers, and she offers him a small smile. “Phil Coulson. I worked for a group called SHIELD.”

“I’ve heard of them,” she replies, stretching forward and grabbing onto her foot. “Private security, right?”

Phil nods, turning his gaze to look out the window. “That’s how I died; a New York job went south when the guy we were hired to protect’s brother escaped from custody and came after us. Stuck a blade through my chest.”

His hand went up to press against his chest at the words; Melinda knew the phantom pain he was feeling- had had it described to her by previous people she’d helped. Phil’s profile looked dipped in sadness, and she stood, moving towards him.

“I can help you,” she said, reaching for him; the coldness she felt as her fingers pressed against his bicep rushed through her, down to her toes. “Please let me help you.”

He turned to look at her, eyes a deep blue that took her breath away as he looked down at her, gaze lingering on her fingers on his suit. “I can feel your warmth. It’s been so long since I’ve felt warmth.”

Melinda smiled up at him, hand sliding down to touch his. She linked their fingers lightly, ignoring the chill settling inside her. “Let me help you, Phil.”

He nods down at her, eyes still looking at their linked fingers. “Thank you, Melinda.”

She squeezed his fingers briefly before she moved towards the kitchen, pulling out her blender and grabbing fruit and yogurt from the fridge. “Take a seat. Tell me about yourself.”

Phil hesitantly sits at one of the breakfast bar chairs as Melinda sets to making a smoothie. “Where are you from?”

“Wisconsin,” he answers, unconsciously playing with his tie clip. “In the snowiest little town. Just my mom and me- my dad died when I was young. Mom died right when I got to college.”

“What were their names?” she prompted; she found the more she got the ghosts to talk, the more comfortable they felt.

“Robert and Julie,” he answers, lips curling into a smile. Melinda smiled in response, pouring her drink into a tall glass. “I feel weak.”

“It’ll happen for the first few weeks,” she tells him gently, touching his hand. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

He flickers from view, his soft, sad blue eyes the last thing remaining before she’s alone again.

_

“I had a great time,” she murmured, looking up at Steve; the taller man smiled down at her, squeezing her fingers.

“I did too,” he tells her, lifting his free hand up to brush a loose curl of hair from her eyes, thumb running down her cheek. “My friend Sam’s band is playing at a bar next weekend- maybe we could go together?”

“I’d like that,” she replied, smiling. Steve smiled back, a brilliant, white thing, before he leaned down; the kiss warms her to her toes, but she can’t help but think about how his eyes aren’t the right shade of blue and he’s a little too tall and just a little too young.

She bids him goodnight and unlocks her apartment, slipping inside. Phil’s waiting on her couch, and the knot in her stomach unties in relief. It had been nearly a week since he’d flickered out of view in her kitchen. She didn’t want to admit that she had been worried, but she’d spent most of her time hoping he’d come back.

“You’re back,” she says as she kicks off her shoes and drops her purse on the table by the door. Phil smiles.

“It took time to find my way back. Everything’s…murky, when I disappear,” he tells her, and she sinks on the couch beside him.

“Want to talk about it?” she asks, and he shrugs.

“How was your date with Steve?” he asks, and her cheeks flush. “Sorry, I looked at your calendar when you weren’t here.”

“It was nice. He’s very nice. Patriotic,” she answers, picking at a loose thread in the couch. “Do you want to watch a movie? I’m not very tired and there’s some new stuff on demand.”

Phil laughs, catching up off guard- she smiles in response, stomach warming.

“What’s been released since my death? Let’s watch that.”

_

“So, were you dating anyone when you died?”

Melinda tends to avoid the question, but since he’d been unmarried and his parents were dead, it meant those weren’t his unfinished business. Phil sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I dated a cellist, for a while. We live on opposite coasts, so it was hard,” he answers, and Melinda sits forward a little. “We hadn’t talked in a few weeks- we both got busy, and she’s touring with her orchestra.”

“Maybe she’s your unfinished business, then,” Melinda answers, though there’s lead in her chest for some inexplicable reason, and Phil shrugs.

“Maybe. Her name is Audrey Nathan- the orchestra is supposed to be on the East Coast for the next month or so.”

Melinda googles her name- a website for the orchestra pops up; they’ll be in DC in two weeks’ time. She turns to look at Phil only to find him flickering before her eyes. She raises a hand sadly, watching him go until she’s alone again.

_

She feels him before she sees him; the room drops a few degrees before his fingers touch her shoulder lightly. She turns towards him almost out of habit; she sighs as his hand slid to cup her jaw, thumb along the curve of it.

“Why are you crying?” he asks, and she shakes her head, wiping at the tears collected under her eyes.

“My mom called; my dad had a heart attack,” she whispered, words sticking in her throat as more tears bubbled up. She moves into Phil before she even thinks; his cold arms wrap around her as her head slips under his chin, body wracking with sobs.

“I’m so sorry, Lin,” Phil murmured, holding her tight as his fingers twined in her hair, other hand rubbing her back soothingly.

“He’s in a coma. They don’t know if he’ll wake up,” she sobbed out, and Phil holds her impossibly tighter. Her knees buckle, and Phil guides her over to the bed; she tugs him down until he wraps himself around her, holding her close as she falls apart in the safety of her sheets.

He’s not sure how long he holds her, but finally her breathing evens out and she starts to shiver- he goes to move away, to let her warm up, but she shakes her head, eyes opening sleepily as her hand curls around his. “Please stay. Please, Phil. I need you.”

He stands briefly, to grab a thick wool blanket to wrap around her before he joins her again, letting her back settle against his front. He closed his eyes as her warmth settled over him, smelling like cinnamon and cloves and home, and for the first time since he’d died, he slept.

_

“Audrey couldn’t see me,” Phil said, a hint of disappointment in his face. “She’s not the person I’m supposed to fix things with.”

“But, you said you were together,” Melinda said, and Phil shrugged, lips quirking sadly. They’d gone to see her orchestra perform- and when Melinda had managed to talk to her after the performance, she hadn’t been able to see Phil, which meant he hadn’t been his unfinished business.

“She’s beautiful, talented, and smart. I was lucky when I got to see her every few months because of work,” he replied, palm unconsciously gravitating towards the scar on his chest. “I’m happy she’s happy. She deserves to be happy.”

“But if your unfinished business wasn’t the cellist, what could it be?” Melinda asked, and Phil shook his head, helplessness in his eyes. Quiet despair settled between them as they separately wracked their brains for possibilities.

“There was a girl,” Phil finally said, breaking the silence. “Back in college. I spent every day for a year trying to work up the courage to ask her out- she used to sit at the same table at the library to study. I’d walk by three or four times over the course of her being there, trying to be brave enough to talk to her, but she was so beautiful. I always chickened out, and then junior year she was gone. I’ve spent most of my life hoping to find her again, but I never even knew her name.”

Something nudged in Melinda’s chest at the story- some corner of her brain tried to spark a memory, and dread lines her stomach. _But it can’t be_.

“When I saw you, I thought I’d gone to heaven- she looked so much like you,” he continued, a sad smile curling his lips. “But that’s impossible.”

“Where did you go to school?” she asked, voice barely audible as the impossible reality loomed in front of her. Phil looked up at her, swallowing.

“Boston University,” he answers, and Melinda half-laughs, choking.

“I was the girl,” she whispers, feeling something loosen in her chest. Everything made sense- the easy familiarity, the friendship that had felt so right between them. The love she felt when she looked in his eyes. “I was the girl in the library.”

When she looked up at him, he was frozen, lips parted in shock. But she could see he agreed in the way his hand stretched towards her; she grasped his cold fingers, tears pricking her eyes at the chill.

“I’m your unfinished business,” Melinda says with a soft, harsh laugh that gets caught in her throat.

“I’m not ready to go,” Phil whispers in a voice that’s sad and broken, tears pooling in those blue eyes she loved so much. “Not when I’ve just found you.”

The crack in his voice is what pushes her over the edge; she crumbles, sinking to her knees with her head in her hands, hot tears streaming down her face. Seconds later she feels the cool of Phil’s presence as he wraps himself around her, and she turns her face into his chest, sobs wracking her chest.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye to you,” she whispers, voice hoarse with tears.

“But I can’t stay,” he finishes what she can’t say; what they both know. She swallows down the tears that cling to the back of her throat. “Promise me something, Lin.”

She looks up at him; his eyes are clear, and the corner of his mouth is pulled up into one of his half-smiles that she loves so much. Her chest aches when she answers. “Anything.”

“Be happy,” is his simple request, and the smile he gives her breaks what’s left of her heart. “Call Steve. Call your mom. Call Natasha. Live your life, and just _be happy_. Don’t push people away anymore. You have such a big heart. The world deserves to feel the love you have.”

“I’m going to miss you,” she whispers, voice breaking, and only then does his lip tremble. “I love you, Phil Coulson.”

“And I love you, Melinda May,” he whispers back, his forehead sinking to hers. His lips meet hers; despite the chill of his mouth, the kiss sends warmth and sparks and heat through her. It’s a kiss of hello and a kiss of goodbye; she keeps her eyes closed when it ends because she can’t watch him go. Can’t watch him walk out of her life for good.

“ _Be happy_ ,” is the last faint whisper she hears in his voice before there’s silence and the temperature of the room rises. She opens her eyes to her empty apartment, and she can’t help the sob that rips from her throat.

“Come back,” she whispers, voice barely audible as she sank until she was laying on the floor, head on the carpet. “Please come back to me.”

Her words meet emptiness and silence, though, and she knows he can’t come back. She closes her tear-filled eyes, face pressed to the soft fabric of the carpet.

Tomorrow she would be happy. Tomorrow she would start. Tomorrow she would live.

Today she was allowed to wish that knife had somehow pierced her heart too.


End file.
